Calm in the Storm
by VeiledShadow
Summary: ‘This is the last packet,’ she hisses, holding up the wrapper between her finger and thumb, as if it has committed an unforgiving crime by being empty. ‘Or should I say was?’


Title: Calm in the Storm(1/1)  
Author: veiled_shadow  
Fandom: Prison Break  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Fluff, romance, family  
Pairing: Michael/Sara  
Spoilers: Season Four  
Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Prison Break are properties of Paul Scheuring, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, Hofflund/Polone and Original Television in association with 20th Century Fox Television. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: _'This is the last packet,' she hisses, holding up the wrapper between her finger and thumb, as if it has committed an unforgiving crime by being empty. 'Or should I say was?'_

**Calm in the Storm**

By her ninth month of pregnancy, she is so irritable that she literally waits for him to snap. Not usually one to complain, she sighs and groans to the point where she's even fed up of herself, and for the first time in all of her pregnancy, she actually starts to look forward to giving birth, which, she thinks as she picks at her supposedly loose clothing that is now not so loose, shows how fed up she really is, because giving birth is _so_ not up on her list of favourable activities. Yet despite her raging hormones Michael is unusually upbeat, his voice calm and soothing over her taught up frustration, which somehow just annoys her even more, and she finds herself in limbo between loving him with an increasingly fierce intensity and wanting to smack him hard over the head with something very, _very_ heavy.

It's after a week of not being able to sleep and putting up with a heat that is beyond stifling that she finally breaks. In hindsight, she realises that running out of salted crackers probably isn't the end of the world, but she _craves_ them and she knows more than anything, that someone has eaten them.

'Who's eaten my crackers?'

The low, dangerous tone of her voice makes all three men look up in alarm from where they are sitting on the veranda. Lincoln and LJ are wet from the sea, having just popped in from an hour or two of surfing, and Michael, she notices with a pang of petulance, is embracing the sun despite its blazing heat, a contrast to her sweaty, dishevelled appearance.

LJ, bless him, turns a ghastly shade of white and Lincoln suddenly avoids her gaze, taking a long sip of beer, most likely in hope that when he looks up again she'll be gone. Michael is the only one who doesn't shy away, holding her with his blue eyes and if she hadn't been so angry and wasn't the size of a very unattractive whale, she may have been tempted into forgiveness.

'There's another packet in the cupboard,' he says, starting to get up. 'I bought some more yesterday.'

'This _is_ the last packet,' she hisses, holding up the wrapper between her finger and thumb, as if it has committed an unforgiving crime by being empty. Through her fury, the obscene wish for her to take fingerprints flashes to mind, and she has to push the thought away into the back of her head because she actually thinks she might be turning _mad_. 'Or should I say _was?'_

Michael's eyes widen and he plops back down into his chair with a look of defeat that makes her skin crawl because he is _supposed_ to fix this.

'I'm sorry, Sara.' Lincoln clears his throat. 'I think that was me and LJ, let me pop out and get some for you.'

'The shops are shut,' she replies with a tight clench of her fists, watching with hard eyes as LJ gives his father a desperate glance. 'It's fine,' she mutters finally, turning back into the house before she throttles somebody, because for once she's actually willing to blame her _bloody hormones_ for her irritability and she's not entirely sure what they are capable of.

'Sara.'

She doesn't turn at the sound of his voice and instead places a shaky hand to steady herself on the kitchen counter. _Fuck, _she silently curses as she squeezes her eyes tightly shut, trying to reign in the crashing rage that is rolling around like a storm.

'I'm sorry,' she apologises quietly and the tears rise hot and heavy, despite her attempts to push them back. 'I don't know what's got into me.'

He doesn't move and her heart pangs painfully, because he's wary to even touch her. But then she takes a step forward, and he catches on, wrapping his around her, lips soft against her head. Breathing him in, she buries her face into his shoulder and tries to quench the quiet fury that seeps through her veins because of the odd angle he's holding her due to her bump. He seems to sense her anger, fingers softly pushing back a stray strand of hair that has escaped from her messy bun.

'Not that I don't love you for carrying our child, but I'll be grateful when I can hug you without having to manoeuvre around this.' His hand comes to rest lightly on her bump, a grin flickering satisfactorily across his face as the baby kicks underneath it, as if sensing his touch.

'No offence taken,' she mutters, her hand coming to rest on top of his, and his eyes meet hers. 'I just want this to be over.'

'Did you not sleep at all last night?' he murmurs, his free hand caressing her swollen bump.

'About an hour,' she admits, not quite meeting his eyes because she knows the guilt she will find in them. She hears it instead.

'You should have woken me.'

She sighs, looking him straight in the eye because although she loves him, his need to sacrifice his well being for others needs to be put into perspective. 'What so we both look like hell?'

'You don't look like hell,' he says softly, and the tenderness in his voice makes her soften. His expression is one she hasn't seen before and she suddenly doesn't know what to say. 'I think you look amazing.' His hand drifts back to her belly, sliding from the top to the bottom in a gentle caress. 'I think _this_ is amazing.'

She swallows hard; trying to get rid of the lump that has formed in her throat and wonders just how many times Michael Scofield is going to continue surprising her to the point where she is rendered speechless.

With another press of his lips to her forehead, he draws away, moving into the living room with a directness that leaves her intrigued. Following him, she leans against the doorframe and studies him curiously as he reaches up to the set of shelves to the left of the television.

'What –'she starts as he searches behind the plant pot, but trails off when he jumps down from the foot stool he was balancing on and places a very familiar looking package into her hands.

She stares at him and she knows from the amusement dancing in his eyes that she must look completely dumbfounded.

'I knew there would come a time when there would be an emergency cracker situation,' he says, his voice warming her insides pleasantly and gliding over her skin like silk. Suddenly, all she wants to do is kiss him very, very hard, so she does, pressing her lips against his and thanking the heavens that he never allows anything to sit without a plan.

He's grinning when she pulls away, and she smiles at him, surprised at how foreign it feels, because this is the first time in the past week that she has genuinely been happy. His face lights up as she laughs, her fingers smoothing over the packet of crackers in her hands.

'You're an astute man, Scofield,' she says teasingly.

'Oh yeh?' he grins, raising an eyebrow at her. 'Why's that?'

She smiles at him slowly. 'Fancy rubbing my back in the shower?'

'Is that a euphemism?' he asks, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and she really _really_ just wants him to shut up and get in the damn shower.

'Maybe,' she grins as she pads off in what she wishes she could describe as a very sexy _waddle._ 'Why don't you come and find out?'

As she strips off her clothes and waits for the shower to warm, she smiles to herself as she recalls his hasty retreat to get rid of Lincoln and LJ. Biting into a salted cracker that shouldn't taste like heaven but does, she studies her figure in the mirror. Her belly is round and swollen, her breasts in a similar state but the sight for the first time in a week doesn't make her want to cry. Sliding her hands over her belly, she laughs softly to herself as the baby kicks underneath her palm.

'I can't wait to meet you,' she murmurs softly to her stomach, her thumb rubbing over the spot on her skin where she'd just felt movement. 'Even if you do keep me up at all hours.'

She turns as the door clicks open and then Michael is behind her, eyes lighting up at her naked form. Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, his hands come up to rest lightly on her arms, and they stare in the mirror until the steam clouds their vision.

Placing another kiss on her bare shoulder he steps away slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and shedding off the rest of his clothes. He stares at her, and then a smirk spreads across his face.

'Will there even be room for me in the shower?' he asks teasingly, nodding towards her stomach.

Rolling her eyes, she grabs his hands, pulling him under the stream of water. 'Michael, when will you learn to shut up?' she asks, staring up at him through water clogged lashes.

His eyes turn dark, a hand coming up to push back her soaked hair from her face, and then he's leaning forward, his breath hot on her neck as his lips hover by her ear.

'I think I can find a way.'

He does.


End file.
